


Third Encounter

by MarumeChiisa



Category: Fate/Apocrypha, Fate/Grand Order
Genre: F/M, Graphic Depiction of Blood, Heinrich von Kleist - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:54:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29294001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarumeChiisa/pseuds/MarumeChiisa
Summary: Three is a blessed number in many cultures, but especially the Greek. There were three major Gods that ruled the three realms, three-headed guard dog of the Underworld, three goddesses of Fates, and many others. There was also saying that if one reached the Elysian but asked to be reborn and reached the Elysian again after three times, they're going to be sent to the Isle of the Blessed. But what does it mean encountering the same individual three times in three different lifetimes; two of which either of them died at the hand of the other? Should they expect the third times to be any different?
Relationships: Achilles | Rider of Red/Penthesilea | Berserker, Achilles/Penthesilea (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	1. First Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> ** Author note**: to put it simply, I'm gonna make a rather long character study out of the materials mentioned in the rote disclaimer with Achilles and Penthesilea as the main focus which may or may not be written in chronological order. It’s best to think of it as collection of short (incoherent) skits just because I love Achi and Penth at the moment. If you have read the other work I wrote titled ‘ _ Dreams of Roses and Ambrosia _ ’ (deleted, as of current), then this one is a messier take on that story because I can’t seem to write a choherent story one of these days. So, instead of pressuring things to be coherent, I own the incoherency right from the start and let my imagination run wild.
> 
> The protag will be Gudako here, but won’t be named or even specified too much because I already mentioned that I would put the rest of the world in the background behind my current favorite pairing, lol. Things will be internalized heavily because overthinking is my forte, and that reflects into my writing style. Anyway, without further ado, enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer** : you know the basics. I took inspiration from the original Greek myth, Kleist's play, Quintus Smyrnaeus's account on Trojan War, and some part of FGO lores (mainly EoR Agartha comicalization). Their appearances are based off their FGO counterpart with a bit modification to fit the situation. I mainly used Joel Agee's version of ' _Penthesilea_ ' translation and A.S. Way's translation of ' _Fall of Troy_ '. Other materials were picked up randomly from tumblr posts, Wikipedia, and Riordan's ' _Percy Jackson_ '.

Their first encounter was on the plain of Troy, and all she could remember was the sand, gold, and blood. Now she understood why he was called The Golden. 

He stood there, behind the mounts pulling his chariot, his golden armor glinted under the sun. His spear on his right hand while his shield on his left. The other soldier’s armor were silver, so naturally, the golden-armored figure attracted more attention than his surrounding. The gold color actually made him almost blended right in with the sand around him, and the sunray bouncing off its shiny surface was near blinding, one would think that he did that on purpose; so that their enemies would be distracted. 

She wrapped her fingers tighter around her own spear, knowing that whoever that was couldn't have been a mere soldier. She had seen how he deflected an attack from one of her Amazons like swatting away a fly, he hadn't even tried to fight back at all, but the woman fell dead anyway. Her famous temper was sparked at the sight, of course, but it wasn't fury that she felt. The sun beating down mercilessly on the Plain of Troy, coupled with the fact that her father's war-raging blood rushed to her skin, making her practically steaming from every pore on her body. 

Finally, someone who was worth her time... she thought dissonantly, pulling the rein of her mount to circle the man in golden armor slowly. She wanted to lunge at him and drive her spear down the man's throat immediately, but she wasn't an ax-crazed, bloodlust monster people often made her and her people out to be. 

“Queen of the Amazons, Penthesilea,” she announced herself as of customary of what she hoped to be a duel of a lifetime; where one of them would not come out alive after this fight. 

There was no answer. 

They couldn't see each other's face, but she could feel his gaze bore a hole through the small opening of his golden helmet, probably judging her, while she tried to figure out who was this golden-armored figure was. There were a lot of great heroes from the Greeks and she just had to find the one that fit the description. 

Golden armor, chariot with divine mounts... 

She thought she heard a scoff, or maybe that was her horse snorted, she wasn’t sure. She hadn't even realized the battle roar that escaped her parted lips, nor the fact that her mount was running at full speed towards the golden-armored figure. She couldn't remember anything except the sensation of her blood rushing to her head. She had been careful to keep her distance before she could figure out the best way to face that golden figure, but now, the very same golden helmet was mere inches away from hers and their eyes met in that fragment of second; her amber orbs meeting his gold ones. Everything clicked then, right when the tip of their spears clashed each other. He possessed such monstrous strength that she had to back away to avoid having her weapon broken. With this much strength, he could kill mere human with the force of the blow itself, no matter what he use to deliver that blow. But she was no mere human; she was the daughter of the God of War Ares, she could give him a run for his money. 

Roaring again, she charged ahead, discarding her shield as she knew it would be useless against the weapon forged by the God of Blacksmith himself. They parried another thrust after another; a dance in the sand blizzard that formed around them from the intensity of their movement. The battle continued on for several minutes, no one could actually see what was happening since their movements were simply too fast in the eyes of mere humans, but to the both of them, their time perceptions were compressed to the utmost slowness; like unending fight that lasted an eternity. 

Of course, it was only matter of who would run out of stamina first, and while she had charged ahead with all her power, she wasn't a fool who couldn't read the flow of battle. She knew the man she was facing was stronger, she also knew that he was immortal unless she could pierce his only weakness. But, as she struggled to match his speed, she had even less spare time to find that one tiny, unlikely opening. 

There was a piercing sensation that ripped through her right shoulder. Her grip on her spear loosened along with her entire arm as she fell down her horse and onto the dirt, coughing up blood. It was hard to breathe from under her helmet as the sun kept beating down on her now almost lifeless form. She could feel her lifeblood flowing into her lungs, clogging her airways, and out of her gaping wound like a stream, staining the ground red in a growing pool of crimson. Then a shadow fell upon her; the golden-armored man. Still tacit, the man crouched, ripping his helmet with a hand while extending the other towards her. 

She came to Troy, searching death now that her life held less meaning after her beloved sister's death. And death, had she met, at the hand of the Great Hero himself who was now going to bestow her the utmost honor; he was taking her helmet off, he had acknowledged her strength, she would have no regret passing away. Her gaze blurred from pain she couldn't see him very clearly when her helmet was finally off. She coughed up blood again, trying to focus her sight as she could hear his voice muttered something under his breath to the point of whisper, but for some unknown reasons, she could hear him loud and clear. 

"...autiful..." 

"Wha... did you... say?" her voice was hoarse, followed by another bloodied cough. 

His mouth moved, saying something, but she couldn't hear him anymore as she let out a sinister laugh. She could hardly breathe, but she managed to wheeze out what sounded like a high-pitched, derisive laugh at the absurdity of the whole situation. 

After that all-out fight, was that all he had to say? 

UNFORGIVABLE... 

She was fully aware that she was on the verge of dying, but everything became way too clear in that fleeting moment in between life and death. Her laugh shook her body, pain forgotten as her mouth twisted in a disparaging sneer. She looked into his eyes again; sparkling golden orbs like his armor. 

"I curse you, Achilles," she gasped, "that someday your spear will pierce the one you hold dear..." 

He actually looked surprised as his form staggered slightly backwards. She snarled as she reached out her hands, wanting desperately to claw at that sorry face and leave some marks so that he wouldn’t forget, but her hands were only met with empty air and she could feel her body stumbled forward even though she couldn’t feel anything beneath her feet. 

“What are you doing?” 

A voice echoed in her ears. She looked around, only to realize that she was floating in complete darkness. She could only see her own body because she could still see her outstretched hands―still bloodied but otherwise completely functioning; which only meant that she wasn’t in the physical world anymore. 

“Do you want to keep flailing like that or come with me?” the voice said again, sounding bored. 

“What do you want?!” she barked, whipping her head around to find the source of the voice although part of her knew there was no meaning in doing so. Somewhere, at the back of her mind, she knew she was already dead at this point. 

“Daughter of Ares, huh? I must say you are a rather stark contrast to the last one I carried over the other day,” the voice commented, still sounding bored. 

“I haven’t finished up there!” 

“I’ll tell the Moirae that later,” the voice replied, didn’t miss a single beat. “Now, are you going to come with me or what?” 

“I WILL KILL HIM! I HAVE TO KILL HIM!” 

“I take it you chose to be reborn again," the voice said, drowning in the other's relentless scream. It was obvious that she couldn’t hear the voice anymore. 

She was still surrounded by darkness but could see that there was still light at the far end. There was murmur from her side but she couldn’t make out anything as a gust of wind breezed by her side, propelling her legs to begin moving forward. 

The speck of light remained small in her sight, but the further she walked towards it, the smell of ambrosia wafting through the air around her was getting stronger. She had to remind herself that she was already dead, that whatever she was doing now had no meaning anymore. Heck, she couldn’t even remember what had happened in the pitch black room even though it felt like not much time had passed since she had been there. But her legs now swinging in full-on sprint and she decided that it didn’t matter. 

In this absolute darkness, running towards the light sounded like the most logical course of action. 

* * *

He didn't feel like going berserk, but those who saw him probably begged to differ. 

Destroy everything on sight; was all he could think about. These people were enemies, men and women alike. Their leader had killed his best friend, and he killed said leader in return. Now, his people dared to challenge him? Did these fools even know who he was? 

He was the son of Goddess Thetis, had the blood of Titan ran through his veins and weapon forged by the God of Blacksmith himself. Anyone who was foolish enough to stand in his way would feel the consequences. As simple as that. 

Now, where was the one who would kill him? 

His mind instead felt numb, and it had been like that since that fateful day of his friend's death. Battlefield was nothing more than a field with one too many weeds for him to trample on, would there really be someone strong enough to kill him? As much as he was being skeptical over the possibility, he knew it was going to happen somewhere and someday in this battlefield, but he was lying if he said he wasn't getting tired searching. 

How many more years would it take? He had even desecrated the Temple of Apollo to see if the God of Sun himself would deliver the punishment, but it seemed like Fates had another plan for his death. 

Sighing, he pulled the rein of his chariot and charged again, repelling an attack as he went. These women were not to be trifled with. At first glance, they might look like a bunch of savages, but their attack pattern suggested otherwise. Besides, savages or not, they still managed to decimate the Greek's numbers with only a dozen of them, maybe their leader could kill him, after all? 

Ah, there she was, he thought as he spotted a lone figure on horseback in the middle of dust and dirt. Her long, bony white hair flowed from under her helmet, and the air around her suggested that she was of different levels than the other women. The sun beating down the plain of Troy shimmered around her as if she was steaming from her pores. Maybe she really was. He had killed her comrades, after all. The she-warrior charged ahead with a deafening roar and he wasted no time parrying his thrust. Their spears clashed as they passed each other; his golden orbs meeting her amber ones, and he had been right when he thought she was steaming. Her gaze bore a hole through their armor, veins popping from her exposed upper arm. She was no mere woman, he could tell that much. A half-god, perhaps? Whose half? Maybe she was the one who could finally release him from his miserable state of mind? 

Just because he was miserable, didn't mean he would just give himself up right there and then, he could still honor any battle regardless of his state of mind, and the idea that she might be able to kill him was rather exhilarating to say the least. 

The fight lasted longer than he had expected, but it ended with his spear pierced through her shoulder. He was disappointed at the fact that whoever this woman was couldn't kill him, but she put up a very good fight, he hadn't had that much fun in the last few years. He still hadn't figured out who she actually was, but he had a few inklings. She had announced her name, sure, but it hadn’t immediately rung any bell, although he remembered how Odysseus had told him about Troy's reinforcements from up north; a group of savage female warriors. He didn't know the details about people from up north, but had heard a lot of stories about a group of warriors descended from the God of War Ares, and she might as well be one of them. If it was true, then, no wonder she was that strong. 

The Great Hero stepped down from his chariot and approached the lying figure. Whoever she was, she had given him a time of his life and deserved the honor. Besides, there was this rumor that the Amazons were blessed by the goddess Aphrodite. He was curious, to say the least, to confirm the rumor regarding the goddess of love's blessings. Must be an exaggeration, he scoffed at the mere thought, Ares probably just wanted to advertise his infamous affair with the fickle goddess; so typical of the self-serving Olympian gods. He ripped his helmet off as he crouched next to her, carefully lifting hers. 

Ah, what a fleeting life he had... 

He was used to women warming his bed, of course, but never had he desired a woman this much. He couldn’t point out which part of her that made her look like as though he would never meet anyone like her; was it her amber orbs that still sparked some fire in her otherwise limp body? Her face as a whole? Her body? The blood pouring out profusely from her shoulder? Her blood-stained white hair? He wasn’t sure. The sight itself wasn’t what what he would call pleasant in any normal circumstances; but right now, there was this nuance that he couldn’t quite put into words and made his heart skip and also aching at the same time, wishing he had been dreaming would soon wake up to another reality where she was by his side. He was crouching low enough that if he bent down a bit more, he could close the gap between them, but he just stayed rigid there, savoring the sight of her teary amber orbs, gasping what was left of her breath while her blood stained the ground even further. If this was Fates twisting his string, then it wasn't funny. 

He knew he was supposed to say something―anything to someone who had dueled him, he knew better than that. But his thought process stopped right when their eyes met, lasting an eternity. At least, until the words left her gaping lips. 

"Wha... did you... say?" her voice was hoarse, followed by another bloodied cough. 

He didn't even remember saying anything, must have slipped out of his lips without realizing it. Her face twisted unpleasantly as he repeated the only word that crossed his mind at the sight of her, and she laughed instead. His mind was blank, couldn't even fully process what she had said after that before going limp. 

What a fleeting life... 

Still distracted, he carefully slipped an arm under her neck and lifted her unmoving form. The blood from her open wound immediately tainted his arm, but he was too stolid to care. Her eyes were closed and she looked peaceful, and above all beautiful, he thought as he brushed stray strands of hair from her face with the other hand. 

"If only we weren't enemies..." he muttered, his sight getting blurry. "If only we had met in a different place and time..." 

A shadow fell upon him. "Well, what have we here?" a voice said, hint of jeer was obvious in his tone. "The Great Hero on his knees, weeping over a barbaric bitch." 

It felt like sleepwalking; he had absolutely no idea how he had ended up at the place where he found himself when he opened his eyes. When he returned to his senses again, Thersites had fallen dead at his feet and he returned to lift the dead Amazoness Queen and started walking away. 

The battle ended with the Greek's victory and the soldiers started to collect their spoils while the losing side began to bury their dead. None of it mattered to the Great Hero, though, because that only meant he had to live through another battle until his time come, and his only problems was; when? 

He had chosen to live a short life, but why did it felt like an eternity before the end come for him? Was it because he had nothing left anymore? Even his last, fleeting hope had been snatched away right from under his nose before he could even think of such possibilities. The gods surely knew how to torture their subjects. 

Laughing mirthlessly, the last word of the female warrior suddenly rang in his ear. _"I curse you, Achilles," she gasped, "that someday your spear will pierce the one you hold dear."_

Easy enough, he thought, he just had to not love anyone until his death. Why, he would die soon anyway. 

The green-haired man lifted a hand to reach for the glass of wine on the table, but then he realized that his hands were trembling, one gripping onto the other like holding a lifeline, refusing to let go. The woman's words left more marks than he would ever admit–at least not in front of other people aside from his mother. He was not a great hero; he was only a suicidal boy wanting to die after he had lost everything. He wasn't afraid of dying, but the thought of him killing the one he loved with his own spear frightened him. It was bad enough his best friend had been killed, if he had been the one killed him then he would have died from grief right then and there. 

Why had she said that anyway? Because he had killed her? No, she was just as much warrior as he was. Die fighting was something they embraced every time they go out to the battlefield. Besides, she looked rather relieved when he lifted her helmet. Because he had called her beautiful, because she had thought he had humiliated her, then? 

Achilles cursed silently. Chiron often chided him for being too light in the mouth; that he would invite some kind of disaster for always saying careless things in the wrong situations. And disaster, he had wrought upon himself. Of all the things that could scare him was a mere idea of killing someone he hold dear. His life was ending in this Trojan plain, he had no more times for such trifles. 

But, if only what if...? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word count** : 3,220
> 
> This chapter honestly doesn't stray much from what I originally wrote for the deleted story. I did change some details, though. Comment and kudos are appreciated! :-)


	2. False Encounter; City of Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer** : you know the basics. I took inspiration from the original Greek myth, Kleist's play, Quintus Smyrnaeus's account on Trojan War, and some part of FGO lores (mainly EoR Agartha comicalization). Their appearances are based off their FGO counterpart with a bit modification to fit the situation. I mainly used Joel Agee's version of ' _Penthesilea_ ' translation and A.S. Way's translation of ' _Fall of Troy_ '. Other materials were picked up randomly from tumblr posts, Wikipedia, and Riordan's ' _Percy Jackson_ '.

It was like waking up after a night full of long, elaborate nightmare. 

Penthesilea had had nightmares before; nightmares about the death of her sister, her mother, and of herself dying. There was these other dreams filled with blood and screaming and _him_ , but those dreams were murky at best, she wasn't sure it came from memories—at least not the memories that she acknowledged. She wondered if the dream of her death was a premonition or something other, because if she had died then, why was she feeling like waking up? 

When she opened her eyes, she felt extremely tired, like she had been having a very restless sleep. Her entire body was aching and stiff, and when she tried to move one of her arms, the joints popped. Before her, the color gold was the only thing she could see for as far as her eyes could reach. She tilted her head slightly and squinted, trying to refocus her eyes, but it stayed golden, and something, at the back of her mind, tugged. When she stood up slowly from the cold, hard surface she had been sitting on, her muscles screamed too as she groaned and began stretching her limbs. Of course she would be sore, she had been sleeping on a throne; not hers, obviously, but as a queen, the idea of sitting on a throne sounded as natural as breathing, wherever this place was. 

The queen looked around to study her surrounding further, but there was no other word fit to describe the place other than 'gold'. The pillars were gold, and the floors were covered in gold. There were two small stripes of gaps filled with water lining the straight line leading up towards the stairs to the throne she had woken up on. 

At least that part wasn't gold, she thought distractedly. She recognized almost immediately that the place was not her domain, but how had she got that figured out was a mystery. There was a gap in her recollections; a very huge gap that she currently tried to fill in with whatever she could conclude from her situations, and seeing that no other moving organism was present in her vicinity, she started walking down the stairs to check if there was anything else further down the corridor. 

She ruled this place, she knew that much, which made the memory gaps even more disconcerting. There were certain things that she was sure of; about a third of whatever was circulating inside her head in regard of her own identity. Another one third was some vivid nightmares about distant memories of another lifetime, and the remaining was some knowledge she had no memories of learned; just like this place, familiar yet foreign. The nightmares, though, felt rather authentic—most part of it, at least. 

As she walked further down the glimmering corridor, contemplating many scenarios as to what had happened to her, she realized that her movement felt rather different. She stopped, looking down at her body; smaller than she remembered and again, she knew it was deliberate on her part, though she couldn't remember why and how. 

The more she tried to think about it, the more she found the whole situation to be irrational. Nothing made sense and the knowledge-that-wasn't-hers felt like it only supplied what she needed to know, not what she wanted to know. She was the Amazon queen, Penthesilea, having been summoned as the berserker class into this dimension. Here was El Dorado, the city of gold, and she ruled the place, she knew that much. Somehow, she was summoned into her younger form, but her role didn't change. That would mean the nightmares about her death were memories from her past life. 

That didn't matter anymore now, though, she decided. No use thinking about what had passed. Humans lived for a purpose, she just had to find her purpose here. She was curious about the jumbled mess from her nightmare that she assumed were her previous life, of course, but she couldn't help it now. If she kept doing what she was supposed to be doing in this place—wherever this was—maybe she would find out, eventually. 

"I am deeply sorry to have interrupted your nap, but we have intruders, your majesty," a familiar voice told her, right when she passed through a huge arch's threshold. 

The corridor still continued down a dimmer pathway towards a pair of doors, and she instinctively recognized it as the door to outside. The familiar voice belonged to one of her subjects; there were two of them in that room, each stood by the arch's side. 

"Well, why haven't they been killed?" she responded, didn't miss a beat. The conversation brought a sense of déjà vu, she didn’t even need to think; the response just came out of her mouth as if it was obvious from the start. Now she was convinced that if she played along with whatever this place wanted of her, she would eventually find the answer she wanted to know. 

There was a pause before the Amazon's soldier replied, "they are clearly outsiders, you might want to check first." 

Good idea, it was about time she got out of this golden palace anyway, she needed to stretch her stiff muscles. She walked past the two soldiers, quickening her pace towards the great door, almost like a giddy child about to go out to play in the garden—jungle, was probably what described the place better. But the Amazons had lived their entire life by the Thermodon river, and this jungle, although differed slightly, still felt like a playground to her. 

She paused for a few moments after the door to the outside opened. A feral grin split across her face as a low chuckle escaped her lips. She could smell the fresh, wet soil, remnants of morning dew, the sound of river trickling, birds singing, all the things that she took for granted before but enjoyed it as luxury now. She didn’t know her purpose yet, but she planned on making good of her time here. 

Speaking of ‘good time’, though, now all she needed was battlefield and worthy opponent, then everything would be like the good old days. 

She started walking away from the golden structure and into the jungle, towards the city where her subjects had reported of the intruders. Her keen sense of smell was overwhelmed by the new surrounding, but it sent waves of excitement instead as she refrained herself from skipping her way. She was a queen, after all, and she was beyond giddy, although that didn’t stop the fervor rush that made her heart beat faster. Her face trained into a scowl, betraying her true emotion that had become a second nature. 

When she arrived at the town, everything seemed normal at first glance. The men were put in their place, and her subjects brought orders to their current conquest. But her heightened sense of smell recognized almost instantly that there were smells that clearly didn’t belong there. The Amazons didn’t cease their activities and would only kneel when she got close enough to them as she trudged along the streets, looking for anything unusual. 

“We have been waiting for you, your majesty,” one of the Amazons said; she recognized her as one of the higher rank. 

“This place reeks...” she stopped and murmured to herself, watching her surrounding. 

“Pardon?” 

“These unfamiliar smells,” she replied absently, not paying heed to the cry of men being whipped and their pitiful wail or even the voice of her subjects reporting the situation; she had only one objective. 

_There_ , she thought as she lashed out the two spiked balls towards where the unfamiliar smells came from. The building exploded when the steel balls connected with it, and from behind the rising smoke, the intruders showed themselves in flurry of movements among scattered bricks and wood splinters. Some of the strangers tried to scamper away from the place as one of them stood before her, a hand protecting the other. 

“You’re not some random bandits,” she said slowly, studying each one of them. They wore some strange clothing she had never seen before—in this lifetime or before. “Who sent you here?” 

No answer, as expected, though. “Are you one of those scruffy corsairs? Or filthy denizen of that incandescent city?” 

Still no answer. The one that stood before her appeared to be scrutinizing her too. She allowed them to as she didn't immediately attack them as she added again, “Or maybe just one of those stray dogs?” 

That was the third time they ignored her inquiries; three times too many if she was being generous. “Still not talking? Whatever,” she readied her steel balls. “We could always torture the answer out of you once we capture each one of you.” 

“Don’t be bashful, you can all come at once,” she offered as one of them started to pull their weapon out. This would be too easy, but a fight nonetheless, she thought, blood rushing at the thought of fight, no matter how trifle the opponents were. If she could crush them to pieces, that would be a good start for the next hunt. 

One of the other, an individual with long, braided, pale-pink hair intervened, apparently offering themselves to buy some time while the others would try to escape. She watched, half dumbfounded at the turn of event that a low chuckle escaped her lips―quickly escalating into a full-on scornful guffaw. “One of you is enough to beat me, you say?” she said, voice dangerously low as her patience grew thin. “ARE YOU MAKING FUN OF ME, THE QUEEN?” 

“UNFORGIVABLE! YOU SHALL PAY SUCH HUBRIS WITH YOUR LIFE! I WILL SEND YOU DIRECTLY TO MY GREAT UNCLE HADES!” 

The other began to turn away, leaving only one of them. She could feel the guttural sound crawled up her throat as she said, “I will kill you first, just as you wish...” she jumped and swung her steel balls. “DIE!!!” 

The pink-haired stranger flailed and looking around like an idiot before jumping back, barely missing the projectile. “Hey! Hey! Hey! You expect me to catch that thing? There won’t be much left of me to do the catching if it ever touched me, you know!” 

“Exactly, the point, moron! We can’t have you flailing around while we harvest your seed!” she swung the other ball as the strange warrior turned their back and began to run away. 

“You’re saying I don’t worth as much as my seed? Gee, I’m flattered!” the stranger retaliated, looking at ease even as she ran after them with unconcealed murderous intent. Clearly they were used to one-on-one fight with various kind of enemies. Whoever these people were, maybe they could entertain her after all. 

“Do you have something against men? Like they wronged you horribly or something?” 

Penthesilea stopped abruptly at the stranger’s word as she could literally hear her head snapped at the familiar mention. Memories and nightmares barreled her mind like a striking lightning bolt. A few times she had to remind herself that the stranger wouldn't have known her past history, yet having the audacity to speak to her like that? 

“...hut up...” she growled, then jumped and swung both balls at the noisy stranger. “SHUT UP!” 

There was another explosion when the balls hit the ground. She landed gracefully, pulling her steel balls before it buried itself too deep inside the earth as she watched the dust and dirt rose before her. Hadn’t she intended to capture that stranger and took them as prisoner? On second thought, she decided it didn’t matter. There were others to catch later on even if there was nothing left of this one. 

Not a couple second passed, she realized that she couldn’t smell any blood, which meant that stranger managed to dodge her attack again. _That slimy nutcase_ , she thought she turned her head just in time to find the stranger was already behind her, swinging their lance. 

“Too slow!” the strange warrior swung their lance at her, and memories came rushing back again when the tip of their spear was mere inches away from her eyes. 

This time, though, it wasn't ill-feeling that it brought, but the exhilarating sensation of being in a life-and-death situation in a battlefield with an opponent who, apparently, could be a good sport for her. Her back met the ground in what looked like she was going to be impaled, but her hand tugged easily at the chain in her grip and the stranger stopped. 

"That was close..." she gritted through a wide grin. "That was really, really, close..." 

"Ugh..." the stranger looked troubled now that Penthesilea's chain was coiled around their spear. One wrong move and the table would turn, so they decided to let the weapon dispersed from their hand and took their distance from the mad queen. 

"That was brilliant, I have to admit..." the stranger said, a cold sweat ran down their cheek. "I thought you were only capable of smashing things." 

"I'll give you a point for being able to _almost_ kill me with that surprise attack," she said, getting back to her feet. "I don't care if you're a man, woman, or just some weird crossdresser. You are a worthy opponent, it seems." 

"Hey! Do you really have to bring my appearance up? I like this getup!" the stranger rebuked almost instantly, looking offended. "Besides, appearance doesn't matter in battle now, does it?!" 

The stranger's word caught her off-guard again. It seemed like they worth more than their combat prowess, she thought as a smile crept across her face. "You're right..." she murmured, bowing her head slightly. "That was rude of me for saying such insensitive things in a fight." 

Now it was the stranger's turn to look flustered. They were flailing their hands and tried to get any words out. "Err... um... h-how about we just call it square and let me go as an apology now?" 

"That's not happening." She deadpanned. Admitting mistake and backing down was not the same thing in her opinion. Besides, this was turning into a rather good fight, she wouldn't want to miss it for whatever reason. "We may still need the seed of your bravery for our tribe to continue to exist," she added, making the stranger grew even more flustered. 

"H-how do you know if I even have one of those?! You just said I look like a crossdresser!" 

"That could be arranged later, after I defeat you," she said calmly, waiting for the strange warrior to get their weapon ready. 

The stranger in question looked like they were going to cry and laugh at the same time, but drew their weapon out nonetheless. They took their stance and was about to start another round when another voice interrupted. 

"YOUR MAJESTY!" 

She glared towards the voice, not hiding the fact that she didn't appreciate the intrusion. "I will send your head flying if you disturb my fight! I already told you to take care of the other strays!" she barked. 

"It's _him_!" the Amazon warrior told her, sounding almost breathless. "We have spotted our utmost priority in the neighboring town!" 

The white-haired Amazon's queen had been surprised one too many times this day. That was one too many considering that she had just woken up from her deep slumber, nightmares, whatever. This place, and maybe even herself, had existed long before she realized her own existence and role in it. In the span of less than an hour, she was forced to comprehend her current situation and connecting the dots to make sense of everything in order to figure out her purpose here, but she hadn't expected to find out so soon. 

The warrior hadn't said _his_ name, but it was as if another switch was flipped in her head and another lines appeared in between the several dots. Her body's movement was abruptly halted, but her mind was on overdrive. Memories and nightmares came rushing in a deluge of images and to say that the whole thing was overwhelming was an understatement. 

As a member of royalty and a half-god, she had been trained since childhood not to let her emotions loose lest it would get the better of her judgment, but there were times when she allowed herself to vent all those bottled-up emotions, and as a daughter of the god of war, it was only natural that she used battlefield to satiate her hunger for release. This time, coupled with unrelenting stream of images and flood of emotions, her whole body shook uncontrollably as another series of guttural sound escaped her lips. 

_That's right_ , she thought. She had made a wish to a mystical golden grail a long time ago and she was here now, thanks to that grail's power, with her wish being granted. Things started to fell into place as the gaps were slowly being filled—though not all of them. But she didn't care anymore, even if she died fighting him, she decided that she would have no regret anymore.

But now, she had to face him and tear his body to pieces first. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word count** : 2,870
> 
>  **A/N** : hahaha, I took shameless liberty at translating the manga's dialogue in Penth and Astolfo's encounter because I thought it'd be more hilarious this way! Kudos and comments are appreciated! :-)


	3. Second Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer** : you know the basics. I took inspiration from the original Greek myth, Kleist's play, Quintus Smyrnaeus's account on Trojan War, and some part of FGO lores (mainly EoR Agartha comicalization). Their appearances are based off their FGO counterpart with a bit modification to fit the situation. I mainly used Joel Agee's version of ' _Penthesilea_ ' translation and A.S. Way's translation of ' _Fall of Troy_ '. Other materials were picked up randomly from tumblr posts, Wikipedia, and Riordan's ' _Percy Jackson_ '.

To his ardent defense; he hadn't said anything. 

Achilles was famous for many things, mainly because of his parentage and battle prowess; but to his closest acquaintance, he was particularly famous for always being too light in the mouth that his teacher once had once warned him that he would someday challenged the Fates by his remarks. Yes, he would be the first to admit that he had, indeed, said some unsavory things when he had heard about the Ithacan king's plan, but he barely said anything when the whole affair had transpired. If anything, Odysseus had done all the talking, so, would that make him still accountable for their current battle? 

"Have you ever seen women warrior before?" Achilles had said after Odysseus finished telling him about his next plan to interfere with the Trojans’ rendezvous with their reinforcement.. 

The Ithacan king had made it clear that he prefer to avoid any fight if possible. They were winning to Trojans, and it was only a matter of who would relent first anyway. When the herald had come bringing news about the possibilities of another reinforcement for the Trojans joining the war, Odysseus abruptly decided that they should interfere. They couldn't afford the fight to stretch even longer, so they would either see if the reinforcements could be persuaded to join the Greek's side instead or if they refused, they would just decimate both the reinforcement and the envoy’s army before they could fully form an alliance. 

The idea of ending the war quicker sounded rather appealing, but Achilles was never interested in the fight that he had no business with. The only time he had fought all out against the Trojans had been simply to avenge his dearest friend's death, and he had been brooding ever since; contemplating to just leave the war completely to Odysseus and returned home to Phthia. That idea only lasted like a fleeting fancy the moment Odysseus informed him that it was the Amazons that would be coming to meet the Trojans, and another fascination bloomed inside his mind. 

Not many stories had been heard about the Amazons, but the most famous one actually piqued his interest; that their leader was the descendant of the god of war Ares. Achilles was never one to fight for the mere sake of glory, but more to satiate his curiosity about things that fascinated him; the fact that the Amazons were a group of female warriors was another one, he would even hold off his return home just to see them with his own two eyes. 

"I've seen witches and harpies, if that's what you mean..." The older man looked up slightly from his wine goblet, glancing warily at the younger man’s seemingly out-of-the-blue remarks. 

"No, I mean the kind that don armor and hold weapons and shield and ride horse with one leg on each side." Achilles swirled his wine goblet, the corner of his mouth turned up slightly, looking derisive. 

"I have never seen one before," Achilles continued on, didn't wait for the older man's response. He then scoffed—almost sounding like a childish snicker. He tilted his goblet slightly, as if offering a toast and took a sip before adding, "they must be as ugly as the Harpies, that's why they never showed themselves much, huh?" 

That was all he had said before he found himself at the outskirt of Trojan plain, looking dumbstruck at the spectacle before them. Several figures―a dozen at most―dressed in long chiton and armor adorned with animal pelts blasted through another army like savages, swinging their curved axe while arrows rained down on them. They had expected to face carnage if things went south, but they certainly hadn't expected to witness said carnage between two parties that they had almost sure to join forces. 

Confusion took both Odysseus’ and Achilles’ features as they recognized one of them as Deiphobus―the envoy from Troy―and the one who attacked them were most likely women, judging from their appearances; although their face was covered by plumed helmet, so they couldn't really tell. Would that mean that the Amazons came as Trojan's enemy? Either way, that didn't mean they wouldn't attack the Myrmidons too. 

As they got cautiously closer, they could see that they were indeed the Amazons and Deiphobus army engaged in battle. Most of the men were already decimated and was currently being chained. Achilles watched the Amazons fought with ever-growing fascination; almost forgetting their initial objective. Part of him still wanted to witness the fight, while the other part wanted to join said fight right away. It wasn't everyday he could see a group of female warriors fight, after all. 

"We do not wish to fight!" Odysseus announced when the Amazons finally realized their presence. 

The fight stopped as most of their attention was turned to the Greeks. Their body language didn’t show that they were surprised but merely observing the newcomer; most likely to decide if they would open fire or not. Some of the remaining Trojans took that chance to scamper away, but that wasn't their problem right now. A few minutes passed by as both sides scrutinized each other. The Amazons' attention seemed to be heavily drawn towards Achilles, whose golden armor stood out among them—an effect that had become almost obligatory whenever he was on a battlefield. He wondered if the Amazons were aware of who they were. 

One of the Amazons dismounted their charger and calmly stepped towards the Greeks, who was stunned silent. Different from other women, she wore her chiton short. Her armor was carved with triskelion symbol, its lower half was partly covered with a blazing red sash that went down to her ankle. The spikes adorned her gauntlets, greaves, and the tip of her boots gave menacing look to her appearance. Her spear was left tucked on her horse's saddle, but she had a pair of swords sheathed on both sides of her waist that she could access anytime if they ever got close enough. She was the only one carrying a long spear instead of battle-axe, and it didn’t take much to identify her as the leader. 

The other Amazons shouted their protests, but the approaching figure seemed unperturbed anyway as she kept walking, lifting both hands to reach her helmet and slowly exposing her face. The red plume of her helmets danced around her white mane, almost looked like loose garland of roses as she stopped halfway, right in the middle of the space between both sides’ garrison. Her face was slightly turned to her side, eyes closed as she held her helmet with a hand and used her other hand to brush the hair away from her eyes. Every breath was bated when her eyelids and lips started to move. 

"Queen of Amazons, Penthesilea." 

* * *

To be perfectly honest, Penthesilea had no interest in weak men who couldn't even stand their ground against her and her women, but High Priestess of Diana had been nagging her about producing some offsprings ever since her mother passed away, and for that purpose the Amazons decided to join the Trojan war to obtain some loot and prisoners. 

The idea of using their war prisoner for breeding purpose never sit well with her. She was the daughter of God of War, Ares, surely she deserved someone better than these miserable soldiers, no? She thought disdainfully as they tore through the Trojans' envoy army. They had expected the Amazons to join force with them, such audacity. The Amazons didn't wage war for a cause that didn't concern them, so of course it was unheard of if they joined the Trojan war just because they wanted glory or some petty revenge. Hektor’s death was, indeed, unfortunate, but she had no business with it as they weren’t even that close to begin with. They protected their own and their territory, enough to go by for the last few centuries. That was until another issue was brought up by the high priestess. 

Amazons' tribe customs had been instilled into her since childhood but her father, Ares, liked to interfere some times when he felt like it. One thing she inherited from her father was his sense of superiority. She didn't feel like taking war prisoner as a groom, the mere idea itself disgusted her, not to mention that some of these Trojan soldiers actually begged for their life. Disgusting. Did the high priestess honestly expect her to copulate with these sad creatures? 

As much as she wanted to defy the custom, she knew it was created to insure the continuation of Amazons’ progenies. Besides, any sad creature could be honed to be formidable warriors with the right kind of nurture, so thinking how repulsive the process wouldn't help. She always placed her duty above personal taste anyway, and she should get the job done quickly and send the wretched prisoners away when the deed was done. Yes, she would do that. Them begging for their life meant they wouldn't put up much fight and this would end quickly, she thought, mood slightly escalated. 

What she and her women hadn't expected was the presence of another group of warriors. Looking at their banner, they didn't seem to be on the Trojans' side. Now, this could be troublesome since the Trojans had expected their alliance. If these people were not Trojans' ally, then there were chances that they would attack them. Getting more prisoner for their breeding purpose was another option, but these people seemed more guarded than the other one. Some of them wore strange armor; one was covered in striking gold color, a stark contrast to their otherwise dull-looking row of warriors. 

"We do not wish to fight!" the one that looked like the leader, garbed in pure-white armor, announced. 

That was what the other soldiers had said too, she thought derisively. But there was something that piqued her interest; the golden-armored figure. Her mother had spoken of him in her deathbed, and anyone who was aware of the Greek heroes wouldn't not know _his_ legend. Son of Peleus and sea goddess Thetis, grandson of titan Nereus, heir of Myrmidon throne, and the one who defeated Hektor. Now, that sounded like someone worthy for a queen like her. But as per Amazon's custom, she, as a queen, wasn't allowed to actively seek her own opponent to defeat, that was for her women to do unless the individual itself challenged her to a battle. Besides, while they looked cautious, they didn't seem too eager in battling them, which definitely a turn-off for her. 

So she decided to humor them first and decide later if she would just flat out refuse their request. If they decided to open fire after that, then that suited fine for an excuse to defeat more men, but if not, then she could always lead her warriors back home. No use wasting her time and manpower to something that couldn't be arranged to meet their purpose. 

Her women voiced their concern and protest when she jumped down from her mount and began walking away towards the Greeks, she had expected as much. The Greeks looked wary at her approaching figure, so she decided to take off her helmet, that usually did the trick to either provoke the opponent or leave them speechless, depending on their real intention. 

She stopped halfway, right in the middle of empty stretch between the Amazons and the Greek. "Queen of Amazon, Penthesilea," she announced herself. 

Judging by their mixed reaction, some of them probably had heard of her name or her father, which gave her some smug satisfaction at seeing their stunned silence. _Now, show me your true face, Greeks_ , she thought smugly. The golden-armored figure mounted off and approached her, the spear in his hand was pointed downwards, while the white-armored warrior voiced his protest, but ended-up reluctantly followed suit and tailed behind the golden-armored man. She could hear her second-in-command, Prothoë, hastily ran towards her side, weapons at the ready. 

"Son of Peleus, Achilles," the golden-armored man finally introduced himself when he was just an arm reach away from the Amazon queen. He stabbed his spear to the ground and used his now-free hands to slowly lift his helmet, almost as if mimicking her gesture not long before. 

Penthesilea wondered if he did that on purpose; like to mock her, perhaps? Him using spear and shield with no other weapon meant he was not a close combatant. They could still wrestle or resort to fist-fight if needed, of course, but she had swords on her disposal. Was he really that proud of his own abilities that when it came to battle of any kind, he would win? Was he looking down on her? Why was she the one getting provoked anyway? They barely exchanged a word, and she hadn't even seen his fac- 

Her thought stopped right when their gaze locked at each other. 

The white-armored man took his helmet off too and began talking. Although obviously reluctant, Prothoë listened to his story. At that point though, nothing else mattered to both the queen and the great hero as they were too busy drowning in each other's lustful gaze. 

He was a fine man, physically speaking, and she had to admit that she rather enjoyed the spectacle. She had heard many stories regarding the great hero, but seeing the actual person was just different than merely imagining it. He stood tall and proud, golden armor matched his heated golden gaze. Knowing his parentage was exceptional, she wondered if their blood mixed, what kind of offsprings they would make? She rather liked the prospect of strong offsprings, and he wasn't bad-looking either—definitely way better than what she used to witness, and certainly far better than the begging, sorry-excuse of warriors that were their current prisoners. Coupled with her mother's words and her own desire she hadn't realized ever owned, she was beyond besotted with the blooming idea. She didn't know what had caused such reaction or if the feeling was reciprocated, but seeing he stared at her as intensely―if not more―she fancied that he was also charmed by her for whatever reason. 

She didn't think it mattered, because her mind was already preoccupied with a new objective; she had to _own_ him, she wanted to bear his child, and to do that, she needed to conquer him first. 

"What do you say, your majesty?" Prothoë's voice brought the queen back from her trance-like state. 

Penthesilea could feel warm sensation crept its way up her entire face in embarrassment, realizing that she had zoned out the rest of the world and didn't know what they had been talking about. On second thought, she decided it mattered not. She had decided to wage war with the Greeks just so that she could defeat him personally and brought him back as her prisoner and groom. They needed to be provoked first. She needed to say the right thing so that everything would go as planned... 

"Let my arrows be your answer," she finally said haughtily, turning away from the bewildered Greeks and started walking away. 

Prothoë sounded flustered as she followed her queen. "Are you sure, my queen? We already have enough prisoners-" 

"That's for me to decide, Prothoë," Penthesilea cut her off, indicating that she was not open to anymore negotiation. 

She called the remaining Deiphobus' men, who was halfway their flight, to join them, which baffled all the present parties. Of course she realized just how much she had surprised everyone today by her sudden urges, even she was surprised by her own decision. But she had set her eyes on one goal, and she would pursue it by any means, even if it meant defying the Fates. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Word count ** : 2,630
> 
> ** A/N ** : I have been waiting to rewrite Kleist's play about these two! The initial version I wrote unintentionally focused too much on Odysseus’ POV (which probably caused by the fact that the actual text is a dialogue between Ody telling Antilochus about what happened with the Amazons), so I had to rewrite a good chunk of the first half since I wanted to explore more of Achilles’ POV. I tried to stick as closely to the original story, but I will give my own twist when I feel the need. Kudos and comments are appreciated! :-)


	4. Raging Centauress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer** : I skipped the rote disclaimer this time for the sake of disclaiming that the first half of this story is not purely my idea, but is largely influenced by another Achi-Penth story; '[ _Conquered_](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/4473666/1/Conquered)', by [_PerfectDisaster22_](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/1574603/PerfectDisaster22) on ffnet. It's not related to FGO whatsoever, but Achi-Penth is Achi-Penth. Do check them out by clicking the link provided if you have some times and is smitten with Achi-Penth. :-) 

Why was she so fixated on him? 

Penthesilea had been asking herself the same thing ever since her encounter with the Greeks. While the answer was never clear, her decision to pursue him remained unwavered, although she also repeatedly questioning herself if waging war was for the best for both parties. 

Achilles was a formidable warrior, that was a fact. But several times they had been crossing swords, she realized that he was holding back. Not that she minded, she enjoyed their fight, and the idea that they could keep teasing each other with a neverending battle sounded better than actually bringing him home and copulate with him just to create offspring. Where was the fun in that anyway? She was the daughter of Ares, god of war, and battlefield was her true domain. Achilles was also a man of war, and he was the very embodiment of ideal partner for her; be it as enemy or as potential groom. She preferred the former, though. The Amazons didn't wage many wars with other parties, but she always made sure she enjoyed every time they had the chance to. This time, though, she was beyond enjoying; she wished she could live in the moment forever. 

Then, there were the nosy third-party who served as a constant reminder that they weren’t alone there. True, she had asked Deiphobus and what was left of his miserable soldiers to join her conquest, but now she found them to be more of a hindrance than reinforcement. There was this one time, when she was busy exchanging blows with her golden warrior, Deiphobus himself decided to interfere. He took her side, naturally, and for whatever bizarre reason he had decided that she needed intervention by delivering a surprise attack to the Myrmidon prince so what... she could escape some mortal peril? 

No, she was never in mortal peril―or rather, she had been constantly in it the moment Achilles’ spear crossed with hers that she didn’t pay attention anymore. If Achilles decided to kill her right away, she wouldn't still be fighting now, which was fine by her because if she lost and couldn’t marry him then, only humiliation awaited her anyway, she’d rather be dead than enduring those. Speaking of peril, Achilles was now busily engaged with Deiphobus and she had never felt as indignant as she was now. How dare he interrupted her battle when she never asked for it! Even if she died in the battle with her chosen opponent, that would be entirely her own business! 

The sound of metal clashing brought Penthesilea back from her musings. Achilles could handle any kind of opponent, alright, but _she_ was the one supposed to be on the other end of that tortoise-green spear―alive or otherwise. Even her women knew better than to disturb her battle, or they probably were just afraid of Achilles. Now the people who had begged and cowered at her feet before trying to be her knight in shining armor? Imbecile, she decided that enough was enough. Without warning, she attacked Deiphobus from behind, impaling him with her spear. The great hero looked surprised and backed away, wary plastered all over his body's movement as Deiphobus' now-lifeless body fell down from his mount. He didn't waste time lashing another attack at her, though, but she brandished her shield just in time and backed further away from him. 

"That's it for today, son of Peleus," she said, immediately turning her mounts away from him and began rallying her women to retreat for the day. 

Her heart was thumping all the way back towards their camp. Today was a really close call. She still wanted to fight him, but she didn't want anyone's interference. The growing scale of their fight rendered such thing inevitable, though. She wondered if he also thought that it was about time to end their farce. She had been infatuated by the idea of bringing him home as her groom, but she wasn't a fool who couldn't read the flow of battle. One of them would be killed if they decided to go all-out on each other, and while she wasn't afraid of death, the thought of causing mortal harm to him terrified her. 

For once, she wished she didn’t have to live just for the purpose of fulfilling a duty, and the more time she spent battling the great hero, the more she was aware of how much the idea had taken over almost everything of her. She knew the Greeks were already calling for reinforcement, and sooner rather than later, the fight would become bigger and not worth the risk anymore―at least by the Amazons’ standard. Her second-in-command, Prothoë, had been begging her to stop before their losses became too big, if the battle were to escalate into a full-swing war, then her very people would guilt-trip her into abandoning the whole thing. 

It was a foolish pursuit, she had known that from the start, but was living like a mere puppet anymore fulfilling? Ah, she wished she had never seen his glorious figure. She looked forward to the next day for their next encounter, but also dreaded it at the same time. Every blow, every strike, every battle roar that they exchanged was like a ticking time bomb. Why couldn’t she just cry out her feelings and let him know? 

"Don't overcomplicate things." 

She could hear her father's voice echoed in her ears and if she didn't know any better, she would have thought she was daydreaming as she was lying face-up on her bed one morning, fully-dressed, but still contemplating her decision. When she turned her head, her old man was standing in one corner of her tent, arms crossed over his armored chest, red hair framing his sullen face, making him looked soft and younger. She sat up slowly and said, "Father." 

"Diana said the Festival of Roses is coming, what are you doing here lazing around all day? Forgot how to enjoy a good fight?" 

"I don't want to fight." She wasn't sure if she said that just to spite her father or if that was her true feelings. She couldn't think straight ever since she had laid her eyes upon him, her mind was full of too many fantasies that she didn't know she could imagine. 

The God of War tilted his head. "Heard your mother spouted some nonsense before Atropos cut her string. Was it contagious?" 

"You weren't even there then, what do you want now?" she snapped, fists balled, gathering a handful of bed linens. The mention of her mother made her all too aware of the very reason she ended up brooding about her situation in the first place. Or maybe she just wanted to blame something else to her current agitation. 

"I like Festival of Roses. Reminds me of how exceptional my bloodline is," he said in what seemed like a non-sequitur statement as he walked from one corner to another, seemingly admiring something in the air. "Are you going to deprive me of my entertainment now?" 

Penthesilea's brows furrowed. She didn't hate her father, respected him for his strength, even, but anyone would agree if she said he could be insufferable at times. 

"Mother didn't marry you by defeat. Why should I, the queen, marry a man who is clearly weaker than me?" 

Ares raised an eyebrow and said, "I am the God of War, why would a mere human waste their time trying to fight me when they know they would lose anyway? She asked for my blessings, and I like her spirit, which was why I graced her with the pleasure of my company." 

Of course he would lose the point. Why had she even bothered to prove something to someone who was clearly too full of himself? 

"Don't tell me you are afraid of losing?" 

Ares was never the sharpest among the Olympians, some might even say that he had nothing but his strength, but that didn't mean he was entirely blunt. As her father, they shared some sort of empathy link. They might not be able to fully comprehend what each other felt as the link only gave them sketchy ideas, but it didn't take much to connect the dots between her unrest and recent occasion. Her heart almost skipped out of her ribcage when she was met face to face with her father, eyes flashing with predatory hunger or bloodthirst of some sort, she wasn't sure because her mind went blank in shock. 

"Who is it?" his eyes flaring, as if there were explosions in those amber orbs. 

She gulped. "The one in which the blood of titan running through his vein..." 

"Nereus' grandchild? That imbecile Apollo has been whining about?" 

She had almost expected him to explode in anger, telling her that the young man was no good or something along the lines just because he had some petty distrust against titans and their direct offspring, but his laughter exploded, instead. 

"You chose well, my girl," he said in between laughter, patting her shoulder. "Would like to see how your children will be. Must be exceptional, I don't doubt." 

She almost blushed at the mention of children as she diverted her glance and waited for him to finish laughing. 

"I don't see why you need to be afraid of losing. He's a half-breed, just like you, and his divine half is Thetis. She may have the undiluted blood of two titans in her, but she has no proficiency in battle whatsoever, I bet even Apollo could take her down without much effort. His father is even more miserable cretin than his son. You can beat the both of them blindfolded." 

"You think so...?" she asked as she glanced timidly at her father 

Ares stood straight and walked towards the trunk where her battle gears sat on the spread-out war-sash. "No daughter of mine is doubting her own power." He lifted her metal breastplate and offered it to her. "You will fight and win and bring him back as your prisoner and do whatever you want with him." 

Almost as if hypnotized, she got up from the bed and walked towards her father and took the offered armor. It felt hot to her skin, as if it had been infused with her father's passion for battle. She looked up to be met with her father's identical amber orbs, one of the things he inherited to his daughters, but his would always look like that there were supernova if one looked closely enough, and that alone was enough to spur her battlelust. 

"Show Thetis' whelp who's stronger." Then he was gone in a blink of eye. He had the tendency to do that; taunting her thirst for battle and then disappeared as if to grab the front row to watch the show. 

She looked at the now-gleaming armor in her hand, all her previous brooding had been evaporated by her father’s words. She had her father’s blessings, she could do it, and she would. 

* * *

“Let’s just regroup back at Ilium and rally our soldiers for an even bigger fight with the Trojans,” Odysseus suggested when they rode back to their temporary camp, the sun was setting behind their back. 

“Whatever for? We’ve gone all the way here,” Achilles responded, didn’t miss a beat. His golden orbs were trained to the spear in his hand, thinking about today’s fight. 

“This fight has gone unnecessarily long, we might as well prepare ourselves for the worst,” Odysseus said, sounding exasperated. 

It wasn’t the first time the Ithacan King had suggested early return, but Achilles kept insisting that they could defeat the Amazons right then and there. Now, three days had passed since their initial encounter, and anyone could see that the fight kept dragging on. Most people were baffled at the fact that the Amazon queen could match the great hero to the point that they were calling for reinforcement. 

"I came all the way here at your plea, now you’re doubting my decision?" Achilles turned his head slowly, eyebrows furrowed deep, mouth curled into a scowl. "Let me just finish the business here and I’ll call it quit." 

Odysseus was prone to guilt trip, and he was not beyond using their friendship for his end. Why, Odysseus had done the same to him too, although never intentionally. Did he feel bad for manipulating their relationship? After he saw her; not at all. Too many months he had spent brooding after he had lost his dear friend, had even considered to actively seek death in the battlefield because he had lost everything anyway. But now he was running around like adolescent boy on his first crush. 

The Amazon queen was pretty, anyone with functioning two eyes could see that—probably only took one—but his mother was the prettiest among the Nereids and many other beautiful girl had been his company at some point of his life. There was something else that got them drawn to each other, but he still couldn't figure out what. Was his obsession with the Amazon's queen a fleeting fancy? It probably was, but he was living in the moment right now, and he needed more times to decide whether to continue this conquest. 

Achilles paused, the lip of his wine goblet a mere inches away from his mouth, realizing something. Did he really want to conquer her, though? 

Too much thoughts were running through his head when their eyes met, and his scatterbrain couldn't process all at once. He was never particularly good at expressing his feelings with words either, but he knew fight was a language he spoke fluently, and fight they did. She was strong, alright, and for whatever reason seemed really intent on bringing him to his knees. While he enjoyed their interaction in the battlefield, that didn't change the fact that it was a rather confusing reaction to him, because he had seen how the pale pink color adorned her cheeks when they stared at each other for the first time—he probably had the same colorings on his face too. He would say they were besotted, but then she challenged them to battle where one of them might not be alive in the end, for what? That didn't make sense, nothing made sense, yet he found himself wanting more. 

He didn't care if Odysseus deemed the situation critical enough to call for reinforcement, he could bring the entire Myrmidons force over for all he care. But the arrival of the reinforcement would further disturb his fight with the queen, and he didn't need any more intervention than the one he had today. The Amazon queen had killed the imbecile, and that only further bewilder him as to what her real intention on challenging the Greeks. What would she do if she won? And more importantly, what would _he_ do if he won? He hadn't thought that far ahead, never had anyway, but this time he was painfully aware of it. The Amazon queen's intent aside, he _had_ to have some clear objective, otherwise it would only be a waste of time. 

When he saw her at the battlefield again the next day, though, he didn't think he care about objective or whatever. He knew he didn't want to lose nor simply defeating her, and he didn't want it to end with one of them losing. He just wanted to live in the moment forever, was it too much to ask? With the presence of other parties, it definitely was. 

They were riding their chariot this time, apparently had the same idea after the previous day's battle. To unassuming bystanders, it looked as if they were chasing each other, which wasn't something unusual given that Achilles himself was famous for his riding ability. But the moment she taunted him to start chasing, they both exchanged this look that basically said, ‘Let’s get as far away as possible from both the Greeks or the Trojans and settle our score,' then they started running their chariots, ignoring the shout from their subordinates. 

Their snarl slowly turned into a splitting grin the moment they were out of sight of the other soldiers and a few shouting and attack was exchanged during the chase. The rest was their usual way of teasing each other; he would outrun her and thrust his spear backwards and keeping his distance just to show that he wasn’t called the ‘swift foot’ for nothing. She would then throw one of her swords, forcing him to duck from the attack and therefore messing with his weapon’s trajectory. She would later catch up to him and another series of teasing continued. If only they could just run away to the end of horizon... 

A quick pang of pain struck his upper right arm, jerking him back from his pretty thought. An arrow stuck in his upper arm, nothing much, but it annoyed him to no end at the fact that he was wounded. No, he wasn't getting any weaker or slower, but simply zoning out too much whenever she was on his presence. Was he disappointed on himself that he had let his guard down that much? Not really. Every moment spent on her company was better than any battle or cold revenge. 

His chariot slowed, so did hers, and she looked horrified at the arrow as she lashed her head towards the direction where the arrow had come from, shouting something to the phalanx of Amazon warriors a good distance away behind them; they were the ones shooting the arrow that had burrowed its tip into his muscle and was preparing for another round. 

“...CEASE NOW OR I’M GOING TO DECAPITATE ALL OF YOU ONE BY ONE WHEN I RETURN!” 

Achilles could hear her bellowed angrily as he plucked the arrow out of his arm, blood dripping from its tip, and threw it away. He had briefly thought that this was part of her plan to trap him, but seeing her shouting murder to her own subordinates, apparently not. None of his or Odysseus’ men had tried to stop him or question his real objective―they wouldn’t dare anyway. But this was the second time the Amazons’ side had tried to interfere; another constant reminder that they couldn’t keep this farce up. It was probably only a matter of time before either Diomedes or Antilochus—maybe even Odysseus when he got over his guilty conscience—intervened anyway. 

But what did he have to do then? What could he do to end this? Going all out and defeat her so that he could bring her back as his bride? 

A thought struck him then; he was never a clairvoyance, but he would experience some gut feelings that would turn out to be almost always true. He could envision very clearly of what would happen if he went all out. His speed and battle prowess was unmatched, anyone knew that, and the fact that she was already agitated by her interfering subordinates only amplified his fear that he would end up killing her instead. They had been teasing each other up until that point but circumstances were against them. One of them had to defeat the other, and that included _killing_ if necessary. 

He was the great hero, he was beyond vomiting in public, but that didn’t stop the rolling waves of nausea from invading his stomach when he looked down on the spear in his hand. He had never had any qualms of killing enemies, but he couldn’t even stomach the thought of her; on the other end of his spear; bloodied and battered; lifeblood flowing out of the spot where his spear had went through. It was supposed to be merely a baseless fear, but for some reason, it felt more like a déjà vu and he didn't want to know where he had gotten such idea. 

No, he wouldn't let that happen, not in his watch, and definitely not if he could help it. Teeth gritted, it took all of his willpower to refrain himself from throwing his spear away in horror. The more he fed into his fear, the more vivid the image of her death became, he had to divert his attention while also thinking about a way where he could escape such horrific fate. He wouldn't outright surrender, that would mean humiliating her. He would feint distraction and let her struck him fatally instead. Yes, he would do that. Humiliation be damned. 

He was too deep in his thought that he hadn’t even realized that the Amazon queen had started charging at him again, and he just barely turned his head when her chariot crashed into his and dragging the both of them tumbling onto the dirt; their hands gripping the shield and spear loosened. The wound from the arrow grazed the edge of his chariot, sending a tinge of pain to his body, while on the other side of the chaos, she was clawing into the ground, trying to stop herself from being dragged even further by the overturned chariot rolling down the hill to no avail. 

Achilles stretched out his hand, trying to reach even the slightest bit of her, but she was too far away now, down the hill and eventually through to the edge of the cliff. For a fragment of second, he could swear she looked like she was floating in the midst of all those havoc; her arms were stretched out, lips contorted into rictus of a snarl. The sun was right behind her, giving her white hair an almost ethereal glow. Her red sash was propelled by the gust of wind from her fall, spreading behind her back, almost looked like a pair of red wings with golden vein. Despite their current mortal peril, he thought she looked like an embodiment goddess of Mars, about to swoop down upon the earth to wreck havoc. 

Suddenly, he was jerked harshly by the neck of his armor, sending him flying backwards and landed slightly uphill where the ground was more stable. He could hear Odysseus' voice saying something, but his senses refused to recognize anything but her, and only her, no matter how far away. The last thing he remembered was her disappearing form in between thrashing horses and flying chunks of dirt, and then into the darkness of the ravine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> **Word count** : 3,733  
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>  **A/N** : Kleist seemed to like addressing Penthesilea as 'centauress', hence the chapter's title. And while Mars is basically Ares’ Roman counterpart/name/alternative/etc, Kleist didn’t seem too picky in how he addressed the god of war as he used both names. Speaking of Ares, btw, he was barely mentioned in 'Penthesilea', but I really wanted to write some interaction between Ares and his daughter(s) just because I thought it would be fun imagining him as a loving (in his own twisted way, ofc) but also narcissistic father. I decided to give him red hair since Fateverse's Hippolyte's design has red hair (from Strange/Fake), and several account stated that Penthesilea resembled her mother (Otrere) very much, so that leaves Ares with Hippolyte's red hair, although human genetics probably don't really matter much when it comes to gods and demigods, but whatevs. Kudos and comments are always appreciated!  
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